


And as imagination bodies forth

by middlemarch



Category: GLOW (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Deleted Scenes, Director - Freeform, F/M, Memory, Romance, Sexual Fantasy, references to showgirls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:41:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27478969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: After Sam walks away after walking in on Ruth and Debbie. After he's alone, when he can't, won't forget.
Relationships: Sam Sylvia/Ruth Wilder
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	And as imagination bodies forth

Sam was a director. So as soon as he was back in his room, the beds like solved geometry problems and the Strip like come spattered across the night, he closed his eyes and started making changes. First, he removed whichever one of the biddies had been blessedly passed out in a heap on the chaise lounge someone (maybe Melrose) had shoved into a spare corner. Next, Debbie was gone, all her ratted, teased hair and turquoise eyeshadow and that mouth that was somehow always narrowed, never happy, except that she’d been smiling, almost grinning when he’d looked towards her in hopes of an escape. He adjusted the lights, just a little, but not much; Ruth had been nearly perfectly lit in the shitty dressing room, her fair skin gleaming like a natural pearl, the kind you bit to prove it was real.

He changed the arc of her dance, angling it towards himself, of course. He left her in those ordinary jeans, snug at her hips, covering the legs he’d seen wrapped around the other women when she was Zoya, the ankle Debbie had broken in a fit of rage and coke. He pushed back the glittering headdress, just a little, and let her second step cast a shadow underneath her cheekbones, at the hollow at the base of her throat. 

He did nothing about her breasts. They were fucking perfect.

He did nothing about her smile. It was perfect.

He let her shocked, embarrassed eyes be filled with delight, with lust, teasing, tenderness. A singular affection. They were twilit blue. They were grey, like a January dawn in California, like rain. She looked at him steadily, untroubled, glad of his attention. Bright, the way stars were bright and soft as moonlight could be away from the Strip.

Instead of quickly covering her breasts, she walked towards him, increasing the shimmy of her hips. She stretched out her arms like a showgirl, more naked than she’d ever been, wearing those jeans and that spangled headdress and nothing else. Gorgeous. Halfway feral. He took a step towards her, because he was the director, and those fucking perfect champagne coupe breasts were his, cupped in his hands, his thumbs brushing across her nipples. He looked in her grey-blue eyes the whole time, watching for her eagerness, for the moment when his hands would not be enough and it was his mouth she wanted. When she wouldn’t ask but would only, wonderfully, take.

He didn’t like endearments, didn’t trust them. He’d never heard her use one. So she only called out his name _Sam_ like there wasn’t anything as good. Anything, anyone, she loved as much. 

He was a director, so he didn’t blush when he saw her next, knowing how cool the tile had felt against his forehead in the shower when he came, how he could smell the industrial hotel detergent on the sheets when he woke with them tangled around his hips, wet with his come. She didn’t behave, even in his fantasy, complaining that she would have tossed her head, would have taken his glasses off and placed them on some table, somewhere safe. She nuzzled his whiskered chin and made him gasp when he felt her tongue against his thrumming carotid and then her laughter. Ruth’s laughter, spilling over like champagne bubbles, the bottle’s neck struck clean through with a sword.

 _He saw me_ he’d heard her say, his eyes covered by his hands as he backed out of the messy dressing room. _Oh god, Debbie, he saw me, Sam saw me_. He let them have the moment. He was a director and he wasn’t bound by the script.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Shakespeare


End file.
